


The Miracle

by SegaBarrett



Series: It's a Kind of Magic [4]
Category: Queen (Band), Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Crack, Gen, Post-Innuendo, References to Freddie's illness, Time Travel, season 14, suicide references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 00:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18173522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: Sam looks to help from the past for Dean's Michael problem.





	The Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own Supernatural or Queen.
> 
> Warning: As with the others, mentions of Freddie's illness. And it becomes a sort of plot point here so be warned. 
> 
> Warning part 2: References to suicide.

Sam paced, desperately reflecting on the words Dean had said.

This was the only way that it could end. With Dean at the bottom of the ocean, dead and gone with Michael trapped inside him, wrapped up in his head snug and tight.

With the life choked out of Dean, if he were lucky. Maybe he would just go on forever like that, trapped and tormented and screaming.

There had to be another way. 

The timelines had been changed, Dean had told him.

Maybe the timelines were the problem.

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t done it before. Sam could remember the sound of Freddie Mercury’s feet stepping into 2019 as if there was nothing odd about that, could remember himself emerging in 1989.

Maybe there had been changes, then. Things that existed in one timeline that hadn’t existed in another.

Right now, Sam needed to at least talk to another set of hunters. Maybe a set that knew something about staring death in the face and still managing to, somehow, come out on top again and again.

***

The question was, how would he convince Dean to go back with him, when he refused to talk about this at all?

He would have to invent a reason, or find a reason, and both of those sounded far too close to like lying to Dean. To lie to him at the end of it all, even if it was to try and save him, would tear them apart forever.

He would have to find a way, a legitimate way.

“Hey, Dean,” he began. Maybe that could be the way it started. Casual. Like the idea of living without Dean, really and forever with no hope, wasn’t baring down on his skull and drilling a hole inside it.

Dean looked up at him, not speaking. It was as if all the fight had gone out of him. His eyes looked dark, almost as dark as his short time as a demon.

Maybe it was far, far worse to be an angel, to be taken over by sheer power and to realize it, to know that you’re burning up inside and not have any way out. To know that you said yes to it in a moment of desperation.

Dean was still looking at Sam, seeming to will him to say something a lot more substantial than “Hey, Dean.”

“Sam. What’s going on?”

“I have a case.” Sam did, indeed, have a case. He tried to neglect to mention the fact that the case was taking place in early 1991. “It may involve some… travel. There’s this haunted puzzle that keeps appearing every sixty years, and whenever it shows up, people die.”

“What, like Hellraiser?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, basically.”

“When was the last time it appeared?”

There it was.

“In England, in February 1991.”

“…This means we’re going back to see Queen again, aren’t we?”

“…Yeah, that’s about the long and short of it.”

“Is this some plan to get me to… stop my plan?”

Sam hesitated.

“I wanted a distraction,” he said, “Maybe you could rethink all of this while we… Or we could just go on one more big adventure. Something to remember you by…”

Sam could barely get the words out. Everything felt unnatural, too slimy as he said them. He didn’t even know exactly what he would be looking for once he got back into 1991. Maybe it would be like what the Supreme Court had said about porn – he would know it when he saw it.

“You can’t talk me out of this,” Dean told him. 

“I’m not trying to,” Sam said. “I just need you to come with me, this one time.”

Maybe, Sam thought, that one last time would be all that he would need.

***

They went through the portal, and it felt as if it was becoming routine by now. It seemed as if it had been trained, as if it new, to send them to Queen. They were standing in front of a fancy looking building with a green door. 

“February 1991,” Dean mused as they stepped out of it. “The first time we went through was 1989. Then 1990. Then… they came to us, late 1990. Now 1991. You realize each time we go through…?”

“We’re getting later and later,” Sam said quietly. “And we know what we’re getting closer to.”

“Well, they don’t,” Dean told him, “So let’s just keep all that to ourselves.”

“I mean, they know,” Sam argued.

“They don’t know the exact date. Don’t put that on them,” Dean fired back. He stuck his hands in his pockets and swallowed. “And Freddie seemed to be doing all right, over all. I mean… we’re hunters. We’re kind of all prepared for the worst.”

“I’m not sure I’ve seen a hunter with a chronic disease before, though.”

“I did some of my best work with mono, you just didn’t notice.”

“Dean, that’s gross.”

“What’s gross, dear?” they heard, as Freddie Mercury walked out on to the grass, smiling. “Sam, Dean – it’s wonderful to see you both again.”

“Wonderful to see you too, Freddie,” Dean said. “You shaved the beard.”

Freddie stroked his chin.

“Temporarily. Now that you’re here, I’ll have to grow it back, now won’t I? What brings you both back here? And I do hope that you’ve brought along that box of birds I heard so much about.”

“I still don’t know what you’re even talking about, but it sounds like porn,” Dean replied. “No, we’re trying to destroy some kind of nasty puzzle.”

Brian May stepped out and cocked his head to the side.

“What’s wrong, Dean? It sounds like you don’t know what you’re looking for. You usually sound so determined.”

“He’s freakily good at this stuff,” Freddie pointed out. “He should have gone in for the Psychology A level…”

“It’s not something I want to talk about,” Dean said, shooting Freddie a look that indicated the singer would likely know the feeling.

“Well, then, don’t. Let’s find this puzzle that is… what is it doing, dear?”

“It’s possessing people or some kind of Hellraiser deal,” Dean explained. “So I guess we need to get it or burn it, otherwise it comes back again in sixty year and, well, raises some more hell.”

“I always did like puzzles,” Brian mused, “But, and I’m going to bring this up again…”

“Oh, look, I’m a ventriloquist!” Freddie said, “Freddie, stop hunting. Freddie, take care of your health. Freddie, eat this salad.”

“It was only the one salad,” Brian protested.

“All right, so… Maybe we could get back to the crazy killer puzzle, because if you try to make me eat a salad I have plans to end it all right now,” Dean said, ignoring Sam as he looked at him and flinched at the wording.

“So where is the crazy puzzle, anyway?” asked Brian, “And if we’re going to talk about this kind of thing, let’s step back inside the studio so no one walks by and decides that we’re completely mad.”

“Or knows we’re completely mad, dear,” Freddie reminded him.

“Well, the puzzle was last seen in a consignment shop about four miles from here,” Sam said, “A couple purchased it for their daughter and then most of them ended up dead.”

“A consignment shop… It must be in the antiques section. I can probably figure out exactly where that is,” Freddie exclaimed. “I always go hunting – the other kind, I mean – down that way. I’m sure if I called over we could buy it first and get it done by tea-time.”

“That sounds… great,” Sam said, trying to hide his disappointment. A longer case would mean more time to stall, to find out a way to save Dean. He couldn’t go on without him, not forever, without any hope. 

“Well, let’s go, then,” Dean said. “Let’s go find this consignment shop before we have Pinhead walking around causing a whole lot of hassle.”

***

The consignment shop was about two miles away from Freddie’s house, and it was a tiny shop that was cloaked in a white canopy and that they wouldn’t have known was there if not for a tiny, blue sign calling it Carl’s.

“Carl’s Consignment,” Freddie exclaimed, “How have I never even seen this place before? Talk about being off the beaten track…” He stepped forward. “I can’t wait, dears.”

He walked ahead as the band exchanged looks. Freddie was clearly in his element as he made his way inside and sauntered up to the counter, looking the man who was standing there up and down.

“I’m looking for a certain little something,” Freddie described.

“He sounds like he’s buying drugs,” Dean whispered to Sam.

“What would that be?” the owner inquired. “We have anything you could think of here.”

“It’s a box. I want to buy it for my darling husband on our anniversary. He simply adores boxes.”

“Why is Freddie talking like he’s at Ascot?” John asked. Brian shrugged.

“Okay, well, we have quite a few boxes. How about this one – it’s got lilac trim all around the top, and a big pink heart in the middle…”

Freddie turned to Sam and Dean, both of whom shook their heads.

“It’s more of a puzzle box,” Dean explained. “I, uh, saw it here the other day and I told Freddie that it would be a great gift for Jim.”

Sam looked at him.

“You overexplained that,” he told Dean, and Dean shrugged.

“We do have a puzzle box,” the owner said, “Just came in the other day, all the way from the Mediterranean.” 

Sam wanted to point out that that didn’t sound very specific, but he left it alone. The owner – who Sam figured might be named Carl but who really knew – went into the back and emerged with a tiny box in his hands, made up of a number of wooden pieces that had been fitted jaggedly together in a somewhat haphazard way. 

“No one could figure out quite how the puzzle goes,” he told them, “My assistant was playing around with it earlier, but this kind of stuff is Greek to her.”

“Thank God,” Dean said, “Uh, that it’s still here for us to solve. Untouched.”

The owner looked at them and shrugged.

“It’s gong for fifty bucks, if you really want it.”

Freddie reached into his pocket and tossed him sixty.

“Keep the change, for being so helpful.” Freddie gave a wink at him.

***

“So how do we get whatever is in here… out?” Brian asked, “Without getting thrown into an alternate universe, which is no doubt part of the deal?”

“Dean,” Freddie said suddenly, ignoring the question, “Why are you really here? You’ve seemed out of sorts since the second you stepped up here.”

“Michael came back and now Dean is planning to kill himself to get rid of him for good,” Sam said, when Dean didn’t offer up a suggestion. Dean glared at Sam so hard that Sam could nearly smell the kindling.

“Wait,” Freddie said, “Back track, for just a minute. Michael?”

Sam, with a few concurring grunts from Dean, explained what had happened, Dean’s plan, and Sam’s attempts to get him to reconsider, his hands beginning to shake little by little as he did.

Freddie narrowed his glimpse on Dean and shook his head.

“Don’t try suicide, darling. Nobody’s worth it.”

“We can’t think about this right now,” Dean shot back, “We need to deal with the box and not have everyone worrying about me all the time. It’s bad enough that we have Jack back there falling apart and dying, too.” He looked at Freddie and shrugged. “He’s… out of grace and his body can’t sustain him. Or something.”

“I’m going to get rid of this damned thing, so that we can have a talk about this,” Freddie declared.

“Coming from you!” Dean declared. “I know there’s some things you don’t want to sit down and rehash either, Freddie.” Brian turned and glared at him, about to say something, before looking at Freddie with concern.

Freddie calmly replied, “I know, dear. You see, that’s why I’m making everyone talk about your problem instead of my own.” He tossed the box from hand to hand. “Should we get it into a fire, dears?”

They moved to the back of the studio, sitting on the patio and watching as Freddie pulled over a few pieces of wood, taking a match from his pocket.

“Didn’t you quit smoking?” Brian asked.

“Force of habit,” Freddie replied. He struck the match and placed it on top of the wood. “What a shame – it is a very pretty box, I have to say.” He reached over and opened it slowly, his mouth opening in surprise as a long, gray foam began to seep out from the box. 

“Freddie, shut the box!” Brian exclaimed, “Quick!”

Freddie slammed his hand down, shutting the lid and dropping the box.

“Well, I guess we know where it is. Not much of a puzzle there…” Dean mused. 

“Freddie, are you okay?” asked John.

“Yeah, what?”

“Your hand. You’re bleeding.”

Freddie looked down to see a gash forming on his middle finger. He looked down at the box and saw that blood had dripped on to the intricate woodwork. 

“Shit,” Freddie muttered, sticking his hand to his mouth. “Someone grab me a bandage, would you?”

Roger ducked out to head back into the studio, and Freddie looked back down at the box, leaning down to scoop it back up.

It was then that he heard an ear-shattering scream. It was coming from the box, rattling it, making it vibrate as if it was in the midst of an earthquake. A second later, a slip of defeated midst crept out and evaporated off to the side.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asked, once silence had overtaken the group at last.

“I’ve got your bandage, Fred,” Roger announced, holding one up.

“I wonder if we won’t need it,” Freddie mused, still sucking on a finger. 

“What do you mean, Freddie? Are you healed up already or are you just becoming a vampire?” Brian teased. 

“Do you think we could trap something else in this box, maybe?”

“Like what?” Sam asked. 

“Like Dean’s angel problem.”

Dean cocked his head to the side.

“I don’t like your tone of voice, Freddie. Whatever plan you have, you have to just… not do it.”

“I noticed something. I was visiting Paul in the hospital, and…”

“You visited Paul in the hospital?” Roger asked. “Why would you want to do that?”

Freddie made a motion of brushing his question away. 

“And a pair of demon attacked us. Came down the hall and went after a few nurses – poor dears – before ending up at Paul’s room. And once they got to us, they were heading straight towards us and then… stopped dead in their tracks. Panicked, almost. Tried to make a run for it and were sitting ducks for me to exorcise.”

“Wait, so your theory is…” Dean began. “I don’t get it.”

“He and Paul are both…” Brian began, doing a hand-waving gesture. 

“You think demons are scared off by the virus?” Sam cut in, scratching his own head. “To be honest, it’s not something I ever really thought about. Have we ever even run into another hunter with HIV, Dean?”

“We don’t usually make it that far into anyone’s bloodstream,” Dean replied. “But I mean… I guess… some of them, it would have come up. I don’t know. Anyway, what’s your theory, Mercury? It’s going to involve doing something crazy and death-defying, if I know you by now.”

“Your issue is an angel who just won’t go away, isn’t that right, dear?” Freddie inquired, rubbing his hands together. 

“I don’t like where any of this is going,” John spoke up. “Freddie, if your idea is something…”

“What if angels react the same way as demons?”

“…That’s a big ‘if’, Freddie, and there isn’t any real way of testing it…” Dean started.

“Of course there is.” Freddie’s voice didn’t waver for a second. “I’d have to say ‘yes’. That’s how it works, doesn’t it”

“Freddie, don’t do this. You don’t have any idea what it could do to you…”

“At least if it’s me… Well, he wouldn’t have long to go on a rampage, would he? I’m sort of time-limited. Might burn out before he’d like…”

“Freddie, stop saying things like that! You are not disposable, okay!” Brian’s voice broke as he said it, and Roger reached out to grab his hand. Dean noticed that Roger’s hand was shaking.

Freddie paused.

“Okay. I’m not. But neither is Dean. And Dean is the future. Literally. If his next best plan is to sink himself at the bottom of the ocean, maybe I can at least see what I can do, okay?”

Freddie squeezed the cut on his finger until a tiny droplet of blood appeared. 

He spoke in barely a whisper.

“Yes,” he said, before any of the others could cut him off. 

The air around them started to feel hot and sweltering, as if a cloud of humidity had floated down on them. 

A yellow beam was surrounding Freddie, which then turned bright white. The others looked over at him in panic, but no one spoke. All they could do was watch. 

There was the sound of screaming, and then a shattering, a banging as if a shutter was being slammed against a door again and again and again.

Freddie closed his eyes and tilted his head downward. 

“Freddie?” Dean asked quietly.

Freddie extended his hand, and the middle of his palm glowed a deep red. Each of the other men stood, transfixed, watching and waiting and staring.   
The ground shook, suddenly, and there was the sound of an explosion. Each of the men looked around to see where it had come from, before settling their eyes on Freddie, whose fingers were marked with a slight red burn, the kind that Roger remembered him having when he had been on holiday for too long.

Freddie looked at them with an eerie sort of calm, followed by a small smile.

“He’s gone.”

There was silence, a sustained silence in which no one knew what to do. 

Suddenly, Brian rushed forward and exclaimed, “Freddie, are you all right?”

Freddie looked over at him.

“Never better.”

Dean let out a gasp. 

Behind Freddie, lit in shadow, were two enormous angel wings.

***

“What are you going to do now?” Dean asked. “I mean…” He gestured Freddie up and down. “I mean, the possibilities are kind of endless now.”

“Oh, darling, don’t be silly. I’m not staying as an angel,” Freddie said.

“You’re not?” asked everyone at once.

“You really think I would want to live forever? We did the music for Highlander, darling. Immortality isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. You think I want to outlive Jim? The rest of the band? Mary? You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever thought of. It’d be like ’39.”

“So what are you going to do about the…?” Dean mimed angel wings.

“Angels can heal people, right?” Freddie inquired.

“Cas never explained to us exactly how it works, but, yeah, something like that,” Sam said.

“Then I’ll be back in a flash, dear.” Freddie snapped his fingers and promptly vanished.

***

Inside Garden Lodge, Joe Fanelli and Phoebe Freestone had both fallen asleep on the couch. An old movie played across the screen that neither had had the energy to turn off.

Freddie placed a gentle hand on Joe’s forehead, first, and watched a soft glow emanate.

Then he stepped upstairs, letting himself into the master bedroom as quietly as he could.

Jim looked like an angel when he slept.

Freddie pressed a kiss to his cheek, then let the light stream down from his fingertips.

***

“Who’s there?”

The voice was panicked, terrified. 

It was dark in the hospital room; only the night staff was still around, and they were each in other rooms, far away. Freddie had seen to that.

“It’s me.”

“I must be dreaming.”

“You must be,” Freddie agreed. He let the pad of his thumb brush against Paul Prenter’s forehead, over a discolored mark. “Good night, Paul. Go back to sleep.”

***

“For you. For your friend Jack,” Freddie said, handing over the jewelry box, not filled with a silvery glow. “Box doesn’t really go with the décor.”

“What did you do with that… hour as an angel?” Dean asked him.

“Nothing too crazy,” Freddie said with a smile. “Anyway, we had better get back to work. We have a video to make.”

“That’s right,” Roger agreed, “He’s got me strangling him in this one.”

“I’m a court jester,” John offered.

“And I’m a penguin,” said Brian.

“That’s us in a nutshell,” Freddie said with a grin. “Always good to see you, Winchesters. You always bring us some weird shit. Keeps life interesting.”

Freddie hugged them both, then stepped back.

The portal was waiting.

***

“You don’t think he changed anything, do you?” Sam asked as they stepped out into 2019. They began to walk past a small storefront that contained a series of televisions on display.

“President Prenter stirred up a new controversy today when he said ‘America needs an anthem that sounds like something you hear in the club’. Your thoughts?”

Sam looked back at Dean.

“Nothing big,” Dean replied. “Nothing big.”


End file.
